


Entangled

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Immediate [5]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Holding Hands, M/M, Trains, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'I should probably apologize for my sisters.'" Shizuo finally meets the rest of the Orihara siblings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entangled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scallionite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scallionite/gifts).



“I should probably apologize for my sisters.”

Izaya’s speaking deliberately, his voice pitched low to carry over the mechanical rush of the train gaining speed as it pulls out of the station. There’s a murmur of sound around them, voices spreading to fill the air with an unformed purr of noise, but Shizuo is standing close enough to the other that he can hear the words clearly even though Izaya’s not looking at him as he speaks.

“Someone should,” he’s continuing now, still looking out the window of the train and not meeting Shizuo’s gaze. “And they definitely won’t.”

Shizuo frowns at the top of Izaya’s head. His hair looks paradoxically darker in the daytime, like the sunlight is only there to illuminate how thoroughly black the strands are. “What’s so bad about them?” The train curves into a turn and Izaya leans into the motion, letting the acceleration throw his elbow into Shizuo’s stomach; Shizuo hisses at the impact and grabs at Izaya’s shoulder to hold him off. “Other than that they’re related to you.”

Izaya does look up at him then. His smile is sharp with teeth; Shizuo doesn’t have to hear the choke of his laugh to see it clear in his eyes. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I hate you,” Shizuo informs him, and Izaya does laugh then, loudly enough that the other passengers look over their shoulders to eye him; he doesn’t stop until Shizuo gets an arm around his neck and a hand over his mouth, until he leans in close enough to hiss “Shut  _up_ ” and earns a few stares of his own. He’s quiet after that, or as quiet as Izaya can ever manage; their conversation at least dissolves into their usual brand of insults and teasing, the shape of the interaction familiar enough that Shizuo can lose himself in it until they reach their stop. Then there’s the rush of maneuvering off the train and through the crowd to the streets, Izaya setting the quick pace of familiarity and leaving Shizuo to catch up as best he can, and that leaves Shizuo still seething when Izaya takes a sudden left off the main street and through the gate of an apartment complex.

It’s a nice enough building; Shizuo doesn’t know what he was expecting but it definitely wasn’t the clean-walled ordinariness of the complex in front of them. It looks like an utterly typical building, totally nonthreatening and completely boring, and then Izaya pauses to look back and says “Aren’t you coming, Shizu-chan?” and Shizuo realizes he’s gone still to stare at the building in front of him.

“Shut up,” he says more from habit than intent, and takes the last few steps to catch up with the other. Izaya watches him approach, his mouth twisted on amusement but his eyes dark with something not-quite-calm, and he waits until Shizuo is level with him before he turns to lead the way to the door of one of the first-floor apartments. There’s a doorbell Izaya ignores in favor of knocking against the wood directly; Shizuo has a moment to wonder if the faint rap can even be heard inside before the door flies open so quickly it’s proof of someone waiting on the other side.

“Shizu-chan!” chirps a girl Shizuo’s never seen before in his life. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

“What?” Shizuo asks.

“Rude,” Izaya sighs from beside him. “Don’t you care about your big brother at all?”

“No,” the girl declares without pausing the consideration she’s giving to Shizuo. “Not when there’s more interesting people to talk to.”

“I told you,” Izaya says to Shizuo, turning in to make it clear he’s talking exclusively to the other and not to the girl. Shizuo glances at him, immediately looks back to the stranger; it’s a little uncanny, to be stared down by two Oriharas at the same time. “Mairu has no sense of propriety.”

“Like you do,” Shizuo snaps back.

“We like him,” the girl -- Mairu -- declares, as instantly as if this statement has passed Shizuo for some kind of test. She grabs his sleeve and drags at the fabric to urge him inside; Izaya is left on the other side of the door, following far more sedately when Shizuo looks back for him. “You’re really good-looking, you know, I’m glad Iza-nii has such good taste. Do you have a sister, maybe?”

“Or a brother?” It’s a new voice, softer than the overwhelming flood of speech Mairu is offering; Shizuo looks up past her head to see another girl, almost a perfect match for Mairu except for the absence of glasses and the inverted colors of her clothes, sitting on the couch with her legs folded under her.

“A sibling,” Mairu finishes, as smoothly as if the interruption was planned. “Kururi and I have been talking about you all morning.” She steers Shizuo to the couch, shoves at his shoulders, and Shizuo sits, more from confusion than because the force was anything like enough to actually push him back. “You had better not be an only child.”

“He has a brother,” Izaya volunteers from the doorway, where he’s tilted himself into an elegant lounge against the door. Shizuo glares at him, feeling some vague sense of betrayal at this declaration of semi-general knowledge, and Izaya offers him a slow grin that Shizuo can feel coil into heat under his skin. “He’s an  _actor_.”

“ _Oh_ ,” both girls breathe at once, and Shizuo glares harder at Izaya, growls wordless protest at him for this wholly unnecessary offering of information.

“Oo,” Mairu chirps, sounding for a moment so like her brother that Shizuo’s attention derails back to her. “Iza-nii’s in trouble. Are you going to tie him to the bed when you get back?”

“He probably doesn’t need to,” Kururi offers, in a tone so soft Shizuo can barely hear the words. “He looks strong enough to just pin him down himself.”

“Do you?” Mairu asks, turning to Shizuo with so much sparkle in her eyes that Shizuo leans back against the couch, feeling vaguely persecuted. “Or does Iza-nii ride you?”

“I’ll make us some tea,” Kururi says, unfolding herself from the couch, and Mairu leans in closer, edging forward over the coffee table and  into Shizuo’s personal space like it doesn’t exist at all.

“The sex must be  _fantastic_  to leave those bruises,” she says, the words coming fast as if she’s spilling a secret. Shizuo lifts a hand without thinking, pressing his palm to his neck in a complete giveaway for the bruise that -- of course -- is hidden under his shirt, and Mairu offers a grin that shows all her teeth at once. “Can you pick him up? Do you ever fuck him against the wall?”

“We can demonstrate,” Izaya drawls. “If you’re that anxious to know the details.” He’s smiling but there’s a bite under his words, a knife-edge of irritation audible in his throat; from the way Mairu’s face drops into a pout, she hears it as clearly as Shizuo does.

“Of course we don’t want to  _watch_  you. We’re just curious what makes him so great that you hid out for three weeks just to get his attention.”

Shizuo looks up at that, the hot embarrassment he can feel rising to his cheeks giving way to a shocked-silent stare at Izaya. But Izaya doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even bat an eye at the statement; he just holds Mairu’s gaze, tips his head to the side and gives the uncanny cut of a smile that has private amusement and public threat under it.

“Mairu,” he says, drawing the name long and judgmental. “What did I tell you about offering unnecessary information?”

“You said you’d cut our tongues out,” Kururi says as she returns from the kitchen with a tray full of teacups. She sets it down on the table, offers one to Shizuo as Mairu takes one for herself.

“That’s right,” Izaya purrs, straightening from the wall and coming over to settle himself on the couch with the sharp edges of his body pressed in painfully hard against Shizuo’s. “You’re always my favorite, Kururi.”

“That’s not true,” Mairu protests, “you said just last week that  _I’m_  your favorite” and the conversation thankfully shifts away from anything to do with Shizuo and what he does or doesn’t do with Izaya. He’s not sure what they’re talking about instead; the topics change too fast for him to track, veering from school to literature to politics to food in the breathless gaps between Izaya and Mairu’s constant stream of speech, but at least it seems safe to let them talk uninterrupted while he appreciates the tea Kururi continues to offer and refill at intervals. It’s not until he and Izaya are leaving the apartment that Shizuo finds the attention to work back through the haze of conversation and occasional embarrassment to the question he had wanted to ask.

“Did you come here to take care of them?” is what he says, looking sideways at Izaya keeping pace alongside him. Izaya doesn’t answer, and Shizuo elaborates: “When you disappeared for three weeks. Were you here to look after them or something?”

“You saw them,” Izaya says to the pavement, his mouth twisting hard on a smile as he watches his shoes against the sidewalk. “They can take care of themselves.” A pause, a glance; dark eyes catch Shizuo’s, hold long enough for Shizuo to see the suggestion of crimson in the shadows. “I already told you why I came here.”

He looks away, after that. Shizuo keeps staring a little longer, watches the curve of Izaya’s mouth hold onto secrets worn thin by things left unsaid so long they are as good as echoes. Then he reaches out, bumps his fingers at the back of Izaya’s hand more as an order than an offer, and Izaya shifts in response, not interlacing their hands as much as making a tangle of their fingers. Shizuo feels the cold of Izaya’s ring pressing into his skin, the painful ache of a too-tight grip twisting at his fingers, and he doesn’t let go.


End file.
